


It's All Been Done

by bearfeathers



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Skyrim Fusion, Body Image, Capsicoul - Freeform, F/F, F/M, Female Phil Coulson, Female Steve Rogers, Fluff and Angst, Gender or Sex Swap, Hangover, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Multi, Polyamory, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-12 19:46:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2122419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearfeathers/pseuds/bearfeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once again, SOMEONE has requested a Capsicoul fill for every one of the prompts off two lists reblogged on tumblr. The prompts follow either an injury or marriage theme.</p><p>Most Recent Fill(s): [INJURY] Ouch. That is not a pretty face. (9/15)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. [INJURY] You should see the other guy.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sort of continuation of [another drabble](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1117016/chapters/2270227) I did where Steve is the captain of an NHL team and Phil is a referee. You don't have to read that one for this to make sense, but it wouldn't hurt.

Steve catches the first flight that he can when he gets the tip-off from Jasper. Unfortunately, the first flight he can get still puts nearly twenty-four hours between them; a fact which leaves him feeling uneasy and antsy and inspires him to have more than one stiff drink during his flight. Phil isn’t answering his phone and he has no way to tell what kind of shape the referee might be in. He can hardly unlock the door to his apartment fast enough. Forgetting the jetlag, forgetting the exhaustion and shrugging his duffel off the second he steps into the dark apartment, he worriedly calls out for the other man.

“Phil?”

“Here.”

Steve flicks the light on, earning an uncomfortable grunt from Phil, who is sprawled on the sofa. The captain feels his blood boil the moment he gets a good look at the other man. One eye is swollen shut, his face a canvas for dark bruising and swelling, and based on the gauze packed around the area Steve’s willing to bet his partner’s nose is broken. There are stitches on his lip, his arm is in a sling, and based on the way he stiffly attempts to sit up, Steve’s betting there are even more injuries he can’t see. As he nears, Phil offers him what he likely thinks is a reassuring smile, but just looks positively ghastly given his condition.

“You should see the other guy,” he says.

“My God, Phil,” Steve says. “What’d they do to you?”

“I’ll live,” Phil assures him. He squints up at the blond, looking like he’s fighting off a migraine. “Do you think you could turn the light out?”

“Yeah, of course,” Steve says gently, flicking the switch before joining Phil on the sofa.

The referee leans into him, sighing wearily, and Steve has to resist the urge to pull him into a hug. He doesn’t know the full extent of Phil’s injuries and the idea of causing him any more pain scares him just enough to make him keep his hands to himself. It’s been less than a week since their relationship was leaked to the public and already it seems like everything’s falling apart.

“I hope you don’t mind that I came to your apartment,” Phil says quietly. “I just… didn’t feel safe going back to mine.”

Steve hears the shame in the shorter man’s voice at the admission. Phil is the self-sufficient sort, the kind of person who isn’t one to back down from a threat, and doing so now means that he’s nursing his wounded pride in addition to his physical injuries.

“Phil, of course I don’t mind,” Steve says. “Did you file a police report?”

Phil hesitates before answering. “Not exactly.”

“Why?” Steve asks, outraged. “We can’t let them get away with doing this to you.”

“Steve, listen. We knew this could happen and that we’d have to deal with the consequences,” Phil reminds him. “Just let it go.”

“I’m prepared to deal with the consequences, but that shouldn’t include letting people try to beat you to death in a parking garage and doing nothing about it,” Steve says, unable to keep the anger out of his voice.

“I tried, Steve,” Phil says, sounding exasperated. “I did. But I gave up. Do you know why? Because I was watching the officer who took my statement. They don’t care. I can guarantee that report will be “lost” in the system. They’re not going to look for the men who assaulted a faggot referee who fucks hockey players because even if they can’t say it to my face, they think I had it coming. So just let it go.”

Steve is surprised by the venom in the shorter man’s voice, surprised by his language. Phil always seems so composed and put together that this sort of behavior sends a shiver up Steve’s spine. He wonders if this is what those men had said to him when they beat him. He wonders what other things they may have said when they’d left him unconscious and bleeding beside his car in that lonely parking garage. It’s the sort of thing that makes him actually consider the age difference between them. Steve is younger, had been born into a more accepting time. Even if a relationship like theirs is still not equal in the ways it should be, he has to acknowledge the fact that Phil has been dealing with prejudice and discrimination longer than he has, in ways he never had to.

It shakes him to his core to see Phil like this. It’s a side of the man he’s never encountered—bitter, angry, frustrated and withdrawn. Phil’s never been the sort to give up on something just because he’s met with adversity, but here and now, Steve has to wonder if that’s what’s happening. He has to wonder if Phil is willing to give up on them.

“We’re going to get through this,” Steve tells him.

“I know we will. I’m just worried what the league will do to you—“

“Don’t worry about me,” Steve cuts him off. “I’ll manage, whatever they decide. Right now, you’re my main concern.”

“I’m fine,” Phil says.

“We both know that isn’t true,” Steve says. He rests a hand on Phil’s knee, taking a deep breath to prepare himself for what he’s about to offer. “If it would be easier for you if we weren’t… if we stopped seeing each other, I’ll do that. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this easier for you.”

“I don’t want that,” Phil says, his voice nothing more than a thready whisper. “They can take my job and my reputation, but they’re not taking this. I can’t lose you, too.”

The statement does as much to bolster Steve’s spirits as it does to crush them. They stand to lose so much because of this, but so long as Phil will still have him, he knows they’ll still have each other.

“Any news on that front?” he asks.

“They let me go,” Phil says quietly.

Steve had figured that they would, but it hurts all the same. He recalls the night he’d first asked Phil out, how the referee had mentioned that something like this could happen; that he could lose his job. Phil had played hockey in college until an injury ended his career and refereeing was the only way he’d been able to get as close to the sport that he loves. The idea that even that had been taken from him now turns Steve’s stomach.

“You have a hearing on Friday,” Phil reminds him.

“I’ll be ready,” Steve says. “But for now, can I take you to bed?”

He hears Phil swallow thickly before nodding against Steve’s shoulder. The captain helps his partner off the couch and holds him steady as they walk slowly towards the bedroom like contestants in a three-legged race. He hears Phil’s breathing coming out short and ragged as he tries to hold back any noises of pain while they make their way down the hall. By the time they reach the bed, the ex-official is trembling with the effort it’s taken to even do this much. It’s as Steve’s gently pushing Phil back against the pillows that the apologies come flowing out of him like sap from a tree; for putting him in this position, for jeopardizing his career, for bleeding on his couch, for how he’s behaving now, for his pessimism.

“You didn’t put me in this position,” Steve tells him, mindful of his stitches as he places a chaste, tender kiss to his lips. “I put myself here. And whatever happens, we’re going to deal with it together. If I have you, then they can do whatever they want to me. But we’re not going down without a fight, understand?”

“I just don’t want this to impact your career,” Phil says. “It’s not right that it should.”

“If it does, it does,” Steve says. “I won’t be happy about it, but I’ll learn to live with it. I don’t regret being with you, I want you to know that.”

“I don’t either,” Phil sighs. In the dim light of the bedroom, Steve sees a small smile make its way to his face. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time and I’m lucky to have you. I’m not giving you up for anything.”

Steve leans in and presses another kiss to his lips, eliciting a soft, needy whine from his partner. Phil grabs a fistful of his shirt with the hand that isn’t broken, trying to pull them closer together, until he suddenly pulls away from Steve’s lips with a soft hiss of pain.

“Maybe we’ll just save this for when you’re feeling a little better,” Steve says, helping him lie back once more.

“This is the worst sort of cockblock imaginable,” Phil complains.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Steve says with a smirk. “I prefer to see you bed-ridden for another reason.”

Phil groans impatiently and Steve chuckles softly as he settles beside him. Silence falls over them as they lie there, basking in the warmth and safety of each other’s company, curling up as closely to each other as Phil’s injuries will comfortably allow. Steve has no idea what to expect in the coming days, but at the very least, he knows neither of them will be facing it alone.


	2. [MARRIAGE] I think we should consider filing for divorce. (Phil/Steve/Sam)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of all the things Steve would want to hear at the breakfast table, "I think we should consider filing for divorce" is not one of them.

“I think we should consider filing for divorce.”

Steve considers it a good thing that he’s already sitting down. It’s all he can do to stare at Phil, who is leaning against the counter, a heavy frown on his face and a steaming mug of coffee in-hand. He feels blindsided and immediately begins scouring his memory for signs that this was coming, only to come up short.

“What?” is all he can manage to ask.

“I just don’t think it’s fair,” Phil says. “If we’re all going to be equal in this, it just doesn’t seem right that you and I should have something that Sam doesn’t.”

Steve could hit him and kiss him all at once. He exhales loudly, his face dropping into his hands as he laughs shakily.

“Jesus Christ, Phil,” he says. “You scared me to death just now.”

He looks up to see Phil regarding him curiously until his meaning seems to click for the agent. Phil at least has the presence of mind to look somewhat remorseful for springing the idea on him in such a manner.

“In retrospect, I probably could have chosen a different opening line,” Phil admits.

“You think?” Steve answers with a smile. He gets up from the table, intent on refilling his mug with coffee. “What brought this on?”

“I’ve just been giving it some thought, lately,” Phil says with a shrug, eyes fixated on the gold band around his ring finger. “We never expected the two of us to become the three of us, but now that it has, I just think we should take into consideration the fact that our marriage might leave Sam feeling left out.”

“Good morning, beautiful people.”

Steve has to smother a laugh at the way Sam saunters—because only he can really pull that off while still half-asleep—into the kitchen. He pauses to give Steve a kiss before continuing on to the coffee pot, grabbing a handful of Phil’s rear when he gets there. Steve snorts in amusement as Phil’s face goes a very flattering shade of red.

“Wilson, it’s six in the morning,” Phil complains.

“Yeah,” Sam says, smirking as he crowds Phil against the counter and wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “And I want breakfast.”

“Steve,” Phil says, shooting the soldier an imploring look.

“I’ll have what he’s having,” Steve says with a poster-worthy grin.

“You’re both incorrigible,” Phil huffs.

“Says you,” Sam says, giving him some breathing room as he fills his mug. “Talking about divorce behind my back. Don’t go breaking up your marriage on my account, I’m no home wrecker.”

“It’s worth considering,” Steve argues. “Phil makes a good point.”

“You two have a good thing going,” Sam says. “It’s been hard enough convincing the world to let two men marry, I don’t think they’re going to go for three any time soon.”

“The _three_ of us have a good thing going,” Phil corrects him. “And if you’re concerned about the benefits that come along with marriage, don’t be. Consider it one of the perks to dating the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Look at you, getting all high and mighty,” Sam crows.

Steve throws a questioning look his way and Phil shrugs, walking over to the refrigerator and grabbing a carton of eggs.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. isn’t bound to the same kinds of rules that other institutions are,” Phil reminds them. “We were never subject to DADT and our regulations in regards to marital rights, protections and benefits were shaped to fit the needs of the organization. So, since we’ve rebuilt S.H.I.E.L.D. from the ground up, I’ve been making some… adjustments in that department.”

“You were making adjustments to suit your own needs,” Steve says disapprovingly.

Phil holds up a finger. “To fit the needs of the organization. A relationship isn’t as black and white as one man and one woman and our regulations should reflect that fact. I want all of our agents and their families to be able to enjoy things like healthcare or the right to visit their loved one in the hospital without fear of discrimination.”

Steve loosens up at Phil’s explanation and if there’d been any fight in him, it’s gone now. It’s a guarantee that if Steve and Phil have an argument, it’s going to be over S.H.I.E.L.D. Sam’s gotten used to it, and it happens less frequently as time goes on, mostly due to the fact that Phil runs things in a way that Steve usually approves of, but there’s always the chance of a disagreement.

“That’s something I can get behind,” Steve says.

“Of course, we can’t offer a legal marriage, but we can offer the benefits of one,” Phil says, cracking eggs into the pan on the stove. “It’s not ideal, but it’s what we can do with what we have.”

“I think it’s a damn good start,” Sam says, raising his mug approvingly.

Steve moves to stand between them, wrapping an arm around each of their waists. “How about today we all go get fitted for rings?”

Phil doesn’t say anything, just continues to cook their eggs as a smile makes its way onto his face. Steve tugs Sam a little closer to them, looking to him with careful anticipation.

“Will you?” he asks.

“Can we have honeymoon sex?” Sam asks.

“Like that’s even a question,” Phil snorts.

“Ooh, baby, I can’t _wait_ to carry _you_ over the threshold,” Sam says.

“I can’t wait to carry both of you,” Steve says with a smug grin.

“Now you’re just showing off,” Sam says.

“And it kind of turns you on,” Steve says.

“What do you mean _kind of_?” Sam demands. “There’s no _kind of_ here.”

Eventually, Phil asks them to take their flirting elsewhere before one of them gets burned by the stove. The end of the day turns out much better than how it had started for Steve, what with questions of divorce. Days later, as the three of them lie in a tangled heap in bed, he admires the way the silver bands fit on Phil and Sam’s fingers. He looks at the matching ring on his own finger and back to his sleeping partners before thinking that, marriage or no, they’ve got everything they need right here.


	3. [INJURY] I fought them off singlehandedly, all fifteen of them!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint Barton has heart. Sometimes it gets him in over his head. Luckily, he's got the Dovahkiin and a fellow Knight Brother of the Blades to watch his back.

Clint Barton has heart.

Among all his traits and skills—and he has many—it’s the thing that Phil admires most about the Bosmer. That being said, that heart has a tendency to get him in over his head. Heeding that fact would certainly have saved them from this predicament now.

Phil and Steve kneel on opposite sides of their fallen comrade, both with hands outstretched as they cast Restoration spells to heal his many wounds. The golden glow of Steve’s magic clashes with the silvery-blue of Phil’s as they do everything they can to save their friend’s life. Being the more adept healer of the two of them, Phil takes the brunt of the work.

He has no time to notice the concerned look Steve tosses him when he begins to tremble, the glow emitted from his hands stuttering before going out completely as he drains his Magicka dry for the third time since they’d begun. Panting, he fumbles through his satchel until he retrieves a blue vial. Popping the cork, he quickly downs the liquid and wishes he’d had the presence of mind to pack more of Jemma’s potions—they’re easier on the palate and the stomach than just about anyone else’s.

Magicka restored, Phil quickly gets back to work. After repeating this process twice more, they finally seem to have patched him up. Though he still remains unconscious, the worst of his wounds are healed and he’s out of the woods.

“He should be alright now,” Phil says, moving to stand. “We should get him—“

Exhaustion washes over him, leaving his knees weak and his vision blurry as he stumbles. Before he knows it, a pair of strong arms are around him and he’s being lowered back down to the floor of the cave.

“Easy,” Steve is saying in his ear. “Take it easy, you overdid it a bit.”

Phil manages a nod despite how heavy his head feels and lets Steve prop him up against the wall of the snowy cavern they find themselves in. The Dovahkiin moves away and rummages through his satchel before returning and pressing another small vial to his hands.

“Sip on that; slowly,” Steve says.

“I’m fine,” Phil assures him, doing so all the same. “We need to look after Barton.”

“You let me worry about that,” Steve tells him, pressing a hand to his husband’s cheek. “It looks like we’re not leaving until he wakes up and you’re feeling up to it, so I’m going to grab some wood to start a fire, make up a bed for Clint, and get some dinner started for us. We’re making camp here for the night.”

 _“Zu'u mindok gul los flogah, nuz kos ulaakei,”_ Phil murmurs in response. (1)

That gets Steve smiling. Phil had taken to learning Dovahzul since his return to the living, and since so few people could master the language, it’s something of a special thing between them. His pronunciation could still use some work, but right now, just hearing it is enough to remind him why he married the man.

 _“Zu'u fen,”_ Steve answers, dipping his head to kiss the shorter man soundly. _“Zu'u lokaal hi.” (2)_

Phil nods, but Steve can feel him beginning to shiver. The icy cavern isn’t the ideal spot to pitch camp, but they haven’t got much choice. So he stands and hurries off, intent on gathering suitable firewood as quickly as possible. The most he has to deal with is the odd Skeever or two lurking in crevices, but the rest of his foraging proves to be uneventful. When he returns, he finds Phil almost precisely where he’d left him, except his husband seemed to have found enough strength to pull Clint into his lap. He appears to be dozing as Steve approaches, cradling the Bosmer against him as he sits propped against the rocky cavern wall.

Steve doesn’t waste any time, dropping what he’d collected and arranging a portion of the wood into a formation suitable for a robust fire. Using a simple Flame spell, he gets the fire going in no time flat. Once he’s satisfied as to its size and heat, he continues with his tasks. He untethers the bedrolls from their packs, pulling the bearskin blankets out along with them. After setting up a bed, he approaches the other two, stooping down to lift Clint.

He’s pleased when both of them rouse, glad when he sees Clint coming to. The Bosmer struggles weakly in his grasp, mumbling deliriously, and Steve realizes he mustn’t know they’d come to his aid.

“Clint, it’s alright,” Steve assures him. “Phil and I are here. You’re safe.”

“Steve?” Clint murmurs, eyes looking fever-bright in the light of the fire.

“Yeah, it’s us,” Steve answers him. “You got a little roughed up, so just relax.”

“Nah. Nah, I gotta get back… Gotta get that stupid… _thing_ … back to ‘em or they’re gonna kick those Dunmer outta their houses… Steve where’s the…?”

“We’re taking care of it, Clint,” Phil says, laying a hand on his arm. “We’re setting out first thing in the morning.”

“Mmkay. Still got time,” Clint mumbles.

“You should have notified us,” Phil says, accepting Steve’s hand as the blond pulls him to his feet. He holds on to his partner, swaying unsteadily. “We could’ve helped.”

“’S’not your problem,” Clint replies as Steve carries him with one arm. He grunts in pain at the movement, but doesn’t complain. “Stupid… pit fulla Draugr. Fought ‘em off singlehandedly. All fifteen of ‘em.”

“Yeah, you did,” Steve says with a soft huff of laughter.

“Where’s Phil?” Clint says, squirming despite the way it clearly causes him pain. “He okay?”

“I’m fine, Barton,” Phil says grumpily.

“He’s lyin’,” Clint advises Steve.

“I know he is,” Steve assures him. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”

“Good,” Clint breathes.

The archer allows Steve to lower him to the bedroll laid out beside the fire and pull a bearskin over him. It’s clear he still has plenty of recuperation time ahead of him before he’s ready to get back on his feet, but hopefully a good night of sleep will find him well enough to make the journey back to town. Phil sits himself down beside Clint as Steve starts pulling supplies out of their pack for dinner. As he’s setting up the cooking pot and ingredients, he notices Phil helping Clint sit up enough to sip on what he assumes is a Potion of Well-Being.

“Guessing I’d’ve been Skeever bait if you guys hadn’t showed up,” Clint says, closing his eyes as he lies back.

“To be fair, you’d eliminated all the Draugr before we showed up,” Phil says, patting his chest. “Seems you didn’t collapse until after.”

“Thanks,” Clint mumbles.

“You did a good thing today, Clint,” Phil says. “A stupid thing, but a good thing none-the-less. Now try to get some rest.”

Clint hums in recognition, but seems to take his friend’s advice as he swiftly returns to sleep. Once he’s double-checked the Bosmer, Phil sits back with a sigh, wrapping his arms around himself as he leans back against a nearby rock. Steve watches him as he cooks, but doesn’t make a peep, knowing the other man needs his rest almost as much as Clint does. By the time their meal is finished, Phil is out like a light. Even though he doesn’t like the idea of waking his partner, Steve knows from experience that he’ll be better off when he eats something. So he walks over and kneels beside Phil before resting a hand on his shoulder. He frowns at how the Knight Brother shivers beneath his touch.

“Phil. Hey, now, time to wake up, _ahmul_ ,” Steve says, shaking him gently awake.

(3)

Phil groans, clearly more interested in going back to sleep, but Steve is persistent. He kisses his fellow Nord on the forehead and Phil seems to rouse more at his insistence.

“Come move closer to the fire and have something to eat,” Steve implores, already pulling him upright. “You always feel better once you put something in your stomach.”

“Yeah,” Phil agrees, allowing Steve to steer him closer to the fire.

Shortly thereafter, they’re sitting on the second bedroll, wrapped in a bearskin and each cradling bowls of stew. Steve clutches his shivering husband close to him and finds some relief in the fact that between the fire and his own body, Phil seems to be warming up nicely. After polishing off their supper, bowls are set aside to be cleaned later and Phil curls against his chest.

“Thank you for that,” Phil hums contentedly.

“You pushed yourself hard today,” Steve says, wrapping the bearskin tighter around them. “And I like taking care of you. When you let me.”

“When I let you,” Phil echoes with a chuckle.

“So, do you think Clint will be okay?” Steve asks.

“I think he’ll be better once we deliver that amulet to that gang,” Phil says. “You know he’s not going to rest until he’s sure those people are safe in their homes.”

“Sounds like Clint alright,” Steve agrees.

“Other than that, a few days off his feet and a few of Jemma’s more potent potions should see him right,” Phil says. “I’d like to keep an eye on that broken ankle, though.”

“Well, I don’t see why we couldn’t stick around town and make sure he heals,” Steve suggests.

Phil snorts. “You just want to try and run that gang out of town.”

“I want to make sure Clint is okay,” Steve argues.

“By running the gang out of town.”

“I know this is his fight and I won’t step in unless I think I should. But that doesn’t mean I won’t check it out first.”

“Clint won’t want the help if you try to step in,” Phil reminds him. “I already spoke to Barney and it seems he’s being stubborn again. You have to let him come to us.”

“You want him to ask for help as much as I do,” Steve points out.

“Of course I do. It’s why I told him I was disappointed that he didn’t ask for help,” Phil answers. “But I’ve known Clint a lot longer than you have and I know the best way to help him is to let him realize he needs help on his own.”

“Maybe Kate can talk some sense into him,” Steve muses.

“Talos, I hope so,” Phil sighs.

“Well, for now, let’s get some rest. We’ll deal with it all come morning,” Steve says, shifting to lie them flat on the bedroll.

“That’s the best suggestion I’ve heard all day,” Phil says.

Steve lets Phil think he’s going to sleep, too, and waits until his husband drifts off. He spends the night watching the two men rest, shushing Clint back to sleep through fevered nightmares and fending off the odd Skeever or two. He’ll lose a good night’s sleep, but it’s worth it knowing the men under his watch can get theirs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dovahzul Translations:
> 
> (1) "I know the cave is fine, but be careful."  
> (2) "I know." "I love you."  
> (3) "Husband." Used as a term of endearment.
> 
> You can find a very nifty Dovahzul Translator [here](http://www.thuum.org/translate.php).


	4. [MARRIAGE] We could get an annulment.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They say that what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.

“Ma’s gonna kill me,” Phil sighs, pressing a hand to her face.

Steve has to admit, it doesn’t look all that great. Coming out to Las Vegas had been Tony’s idea of a welcome home party after Steve, Bucky, Peggy and Rhodey returned from their tour of duty. Ordinarily, Vegas wasn’t the sort of thing which would appeal to Steve, but having gone so long without seeing his friends and his girlfriend, a little party sounded like more than a good idea to him.

Except it hadn’t been a little party. It never is, with Tony. They’d intended to be responsible, but really, how many times does one go to Vegas? So they’d loosened up a little, drank a little more than they might under usual circumstances and… here they are. Naked beneath the sheet of their hotel bed, they sit and try to figure their current predicament out.

Neither of them had planned to wake up married.

“I didn’t think we got _that_ drunk,” Phil says, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“We could get an annulment,” Steve suggests, rubbing the back of his neck. “Our folks’d never have to know.”

Mrs. Coulson had worked hard to bring up a daughter all on her own, after the death of her husband. While she’s very fond of Steve, he has no doubt that coming home with the announcement that they’d drunkenly wed in Las Vegas would break her heart. This is besides factoring in his own parents—his conservative father in particular.

Phil looks up at him at the suggestion and he can see she’s considering it. In all honesty, Steve’s kind of okay with this. He’s not going to say so, but hell, he’d planned on asking Phil to marry him anyway once he’d returned home. Of course, that doesn’t mean she’d have accepted and finding themselves in this situation now isn’t exactly ideal.

To his surprise, instead of agreeing with him, Phil reaches out and takes one of his hands in hers. This is far from the first time they’ve shared a bed like this, but it _is_ the first time in a long time and he can’t help but reach out with his other hand to cup her cheek as she sits beside him.

“Well, let’s not be hasty,” she says.

“No?” he queries.

She shrugs, her cheeks flushing a pleasant pink. “It’s not how I would have liked to do it, but… I don’t know, Steve, maybe we could just try this out for a little before we try to take it back.”

“What, being married, you mean?” he asks with a soft huff of laughter.

“Unless you don’t want to,” she replies quickly.

“Wait here a second.”

He pulls away from her, slipping out of bed and walking over to their luggage. He digs through his bag, to the very bottom, where he’d hidden that little velvet box. As he draws near, he can see in her eyes that she already knows what it is and what he’s going to do. He gets down on one knee before her at the side of the bed, still stark naked, and flashes her a smile; the one that she says is poster-worthy.

“I kind of put the cart before the horse on this one, but I meant to do this before we left. It might seem a bit redundant now, but…” he says, opening the box to reveal the ring inside. “Phil, will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

Leaning forward, Phil takes his face in her hands and kisses him soundly, prompting him to crawl back onto the bed with her. She pulls him on top of her, legs wrapping around his waist as his hands caress soft curves and small breasts which seem to have always fit so perfectly in the palm of his hand. She arches up against him and he wants her, wants her more than he had even when there had been thousands of miles between them. She breaks away from the kiss to look him in the eye, running a hand through his hair.

“On one condition,” she tells him.

“Name it,” he says.

“When we get back, I want to do this proper,” Phil says. “If you think I’m going to pass up an opportunity to see you in front of an alter with that dress uniform of yours, you’re dead wrong.”

Steve imagines, briefly, what she would look like in a white wedding dress, how beautiful she’d look walking down the aisle towards him, and the image is enough to bring tears to his eyes.

“Deal,” he says.


	5. [INJURY] Is that blood?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Usually when someone comes screaming after Steve on the Quidditch Pitch, it's for an autograph. He never expected this.

It’s a clear, cool spring day—perfect for Quidditch after such a long winter—and someone is screaming his name. Steve frowns, catching the confused gaze of his teammates. Clint shields his eyes from the sun with one hand as he scans the area around the Quidditch Pitch. After a moment, the Hufflepuff Seeker points and Steve follows his direction, wondering how in the hell he manages to see that far from this altitude.

“There. It’s Jasper,” Clint calls to him. “He looks kinda freaked out.”

“Alright, everyone take a water break while I see what this is about,” Steve decides, calling to the rest of the team.

The captain descends quickly to the ground with Clint hot on his heels. As they put boots on the ground, Jasper’s agitation becomes easier to see. The seventh year Slytherin is running towards them at full speed, still shouting frantically for his two Hufflepuff friends even as they start jogging to meet him. As they he draws closer, Clint notices it first; namely that Slytherin colors don’t include red and certainly don’t include it splashed liberally across their front.

“Is that blood?” Clint asks, concern evident in his tone.

“You have to come quick. All of you,” Jasper says, gasping for breath. “It’s Phil. They’re taking him to the Hospital Wing, I… I’ve never seen…”

Steve feels his blood run cold at the words and the horrified look on Jasper’s face. The bespectacled Slytherin isn’t the sort that’s easy to spook—as they all very well remember from the Shrieking Shack incident three years prior—so seeing him now, shaking, wide-eyed and breathless, Steve finds himself afraid to discover what’s happened to invoke this reaction. Without another word, the three of them take off towards the castle together, the team following close behind.

“What happened?” Clint hollers as they sprint.

“It was Thor and Loki. They were fighting again. It got bad this time and Phil stepped in to break them up,” Jasper shouts back. “I don’t… I don’t know what Loki was thinking. I’ve never even heard that spell before but, he… Phil had his back turned and…”

Steve wished it had ended there, but it didn’t.

“…and then when he tried to get up, Loki just… fuck, he just cast it again,” Jasper continues. “Phil didn’t get up again. The teachers came in and… everyone was sent back to their dormitories, but… just… Merlin, there was so much blood and he wasn’t moving and I tried to slow the bleeding but none of my spells _worked_ and I…”

Poor Jasper sounds like he’s on the verge of tears. Neither of the Hufflepuffs press him for more information than he’s given them, hoping against hope that this is all some sort of prank of Tony’s in horribly poor taste. But as they come hurrying through the doors, only to be met with empty corridors, they can see it’s no use hoping any longer. The rest of the team returns to the Hufflepuff Dormitories, as per Jasper’s instructions, leaving them to make the rest of the journey alone. By the time they reach the Hospital Wing, Jasper looks fit to collapse, and Steve can hardly blame him. The doors are shut tight, their friends gathered before them with the same expressions of fear and concern that they’d seen on Jasper’s face.

Thor wades through them, the blood less noticeable on his Gryffindor robes, but very much present all the same. He greets them with a silent look of unfathomable remorse, words failing him. Steve reaches out, nodding his head as he pats the Gryffindor on the shoulder and absolves him without question of whatever blame he believed the captain should place on him.

“Do we know anything?” Steve addresses the group.

“No,” Tony says hollowly. “But they didn’t make us go back to our dorms, so we don’t know if that means…”

The Ravenclaw gives up whatever he’d been about to say, choosing to stare at a point on the wall instead. Bruce pats his back and Pepper rests her chin on his shoulder, scrubbing at her eyes. Steve watches Jasper break down in the corner quietly as Natasha attempts to clean the blood out of his robes with a scouring charm. Clint looks as lost as Steve feels, Thor even more so. So they do the only thing they can do, which is namely to sit and wait.

“Where’s Loki?” Steve asks.

“Nick, Maria and Rhodey helped Professor McGonagall escort him out,” Pepper says. “We don’t know what they’re going to do with him.”

“I just… I don’t understand,” Steve hears himself say. “He’s supposed to graduate in a few months. This isn’t…”

This isn’t what’s supposed to happen.

“Those wounds should have been mine to bear,” Thor says forlornly.

“You can’t blame yourself, Thor,” Clint says. “You know how Phil is.”

“This petty family feud has gone on long enough,” Thor argues. “That I have allowed it to continue to the point where it causes others harm is inexcusable. I fear my failure to put an end to the contention between my brother and myself may prove to be more costly than I could have ever imagined.”

The Gryffindor student sighs heavily before rising to his feet.

“Wait, where are you going?” Clint asks.

“To send word to my mother,” Thor says as he walks away. “It does not sit well with me to idle when there is something I might do.”

They don’t try to stop him, knowing full well he’s got enough on his shoulders at the moment. As they lapse into silence, Clint leans into Steve, nudging him with his elbow.

“Hey, he’ll be okay,” the Seeker says quietly. “You gotta believe that.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. But he sees what Clint can’t hide from him: he’s scared. Steve is scared, too. Because this wasn’t just your average schoolyard fight. “I know.”

It’s not right. It’s not fair. Not when he and Phil had finally, _finally_ , finished dancing around each other and taken the plunge. Not after Steve has spent years in love with him without ever having the courage to say so. Steve has spent this entire school year dreading the fact that Phil would be leaving them upon graduation and now that worry seems laughably insignificant in the face of what’s happened. The very real possibility that Phil could leave them in an entirely different way is enough to make him sick.

They have no choice but to wait, as maddening as it is. As they do, Maria arrives with Rhodey and Nick, followed closely by Felix and John. Melinda appears, leading Grant, Skye and FitzSimmons. Victoria and Trip show up with Sharon ushering Jane and Darcy along. Before he knows it, the hallway is getting decidedly crowded as they wait for news on the fate of Hufflepuff’s Head Boy. Steve had discovered some time ago that Phil was that rare sort of individual who ruled by a power so gentle that it was often mistaken for loveable weakness. In this manner, he was well-liked and respected not just in his own House, but in the others as well. He had earned himself a reputation for being fair and impartial, for being kind and a great purveyor of second chances, always seeking the option which would benefit everyone equally. Really, you would be hard-pressed to find anyone on the school grounds, student or faculty, living or otherwise, that would claim to dislike him.

Phil has a great many people who care for him, and having no living family left in this world, Steve knows how much that means to the Head Boy. It’s why he appreciates it now, since Phil is not here to see for himself, how his friends gather in support of him. So when they see Professor McGonagall escorting Thor’s mother in their direction, they’re all on their feet in an instant, like ready soldiers. As McGonagall waves them aside, they part like the Red Sea to allow them entry. Steve tries to catch a glimpse of what’s going on inside before the door closes, but the partitions are raised and he doors close without him learning anything at all.

“My mother is the most gifted healer I know,” Thor says, coming up behind him and placing a hand on his shoulder. “Between her and Madam Pomfrey, he is in the best of hands.”

Steve can only hope Thor’s mother is as good as he claims she is.

“Rogers.”

Steve starts at the sound of McGonagall’s voice, not even realizing the door had opened. They’ve been sitting in the hall for hours, some of them having fallen asleep as they waited. He clambers to his feet, stiff and wishing he’d changed out of his Quidditch robes, but making his way to the doors of the hospital wing as quickly as he can.

“Professor?” he questions. “Is he—“

“Not here, Mr. Rogers,” McGonagall says, halting him with her hand raised. “That will be discussed inside. As for the rest of you, you will follow me as I escort you back to your dormitories.”

There’s an immediate wave of protest among the group. Unsurprisingly, no one’s keen on the idea of being sent to bed without any answers when they’ve been waiting out here all this time. Even more unsurprisingly, it’s Nick who gets them all to shut up, assuming leadership of the group as he faces the Headmistress.

“Professor, we just want to know if he’s alright,” Nick says. “Tell us that much, and we’ll comply.”

“Mr. Coulson is alive,” McGonagall says with a sigh. “The healers are still working to make sure he stays that way. I’ve been permitted to allow one of you in and Mr. Rogers seemed the obvious choice. Any further questions will have to wait until I have more answers to give you.”

It’s clear they’re not happy about being made to clear out, but there is at least some relief at the news that Phil is still alive. As they’re ushered out of the hallway, a few of them stop to offer words of encouragement to Steve or wellwishes for him to deliver to Phil. Clint hangs behind the group as they’re lead out of the hallway.

“Hey, just… let me know, okay?” he says.

“I will,” Steve agrees. “Try to get some sleep, alright? You know he’ll be upset if he finds out any of us stayed up all night for him.”

Clint laughs, but it doesn’t sound right to Steve’s ears. “Yeah, he will be, won’t he?”

“Clint, we’re going,” Natasha says, walking over to reclaim him for the group. She pauses, rising on tiptoe to press a kiss to Steve’s cheek. She’s not the overly demonstrative type except for when it counts, so he’s thankful when she allows him to hug her back before she says, “Take care of yourself.”

“I will,” Steve assures her. “You do the same.”

He pauses just long enough to make sure they’re all actually going—because more than one of them is the type to get up to all sorts of mischief, regardless of the penalties—before turning to face the doors behind him. They’re unlocked and he slips in silently. The entire wing is dark, save for the soft blue glow coming from behind the cloth partition, silent save for whispered incantations and hushes conversations. He creeps forward, heart hammering in his chest, and peeks around the partition. Professor Sprout comes forward when she spots him, placing her hands on his shoulders in a warm, motherly way and bringing him to the seat at the Head Boy’s bedside.

Phil is as white as the sheets he lies on, naked from the waist up and unmoving. Steve is thankful he’s unconscious when he sees the gaping wound on the left side of his chest that Madam Pomfrey and Frigga are still working to mend. There are cloths beneath and around him soaked with blood and Steve has to wonder at the fact that there’s any blood left in him, given how much of it he’s seen on other people. But he’s breathing. He’s alive and that’s what matters. Frigga takes a break shortly after Steve sits down, allowing Madam Pomfrey to take over as she approaches him.

“I am very sorry. Thor has told me of your relationship,” she says kindly. “Words are not enough to express what I feel for the actions my son has taken.”

“Thank you,” Steve says. He takes Phil’s hand in his own, noting how his skin is cool and clammy, how his hand lies limp in his grasp. The shorter boy’s lips are pale and his hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat. Steve looks back up to Frigga. “Is he going to make it? I’d like you to be honest. Please, ma’am.”

“The spell my son used was powerful dark magic. I cannot claim to know how he may have learned of it,” Frigga says, looking as though the situation weighs very heavily on her heart as well as her mind. “Attempts to stop the bleeding and mend the wound have been deflected by that dark magic and it has taken a great deal of time and effort to do even this much. With that being said, he has continued to fight even at his darkest hour. I believe that so long as we continue our efforts, he will live. It will take time and it will be painful, but I believe he will recover.”

Steve thinks he can be forgiven for his watery eyes when he rises from his seat to embrace her, given the circumstances. Frigga doesn’t seem to mind all that much, holding him close to her as though he were her own and murmuring softly to him to soothe away his tears as she strokes his hair. Phil is going to be okay. He’s going to live. Steve repeats that in his mind, over and over like a mantra to keep himself grounded. As bad as it looks right now, he will see Phil wake up again.

He spends the rest of the night by the Head Boy’s side, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a damp cloth and doing his best to keep Phil comfortable while they work. At some point he falls asleep, but they don’t attempt to move him, perhaps knowing that he wouldn’t have it. When he wakes, he and Phil are alone. It’s bright out, sunlight pouring in through the windows, and Steve knows it must be afternoon. The wounds are mended, bound tight with bandages and coated liberally in a poultice to make sure they stay that way.

Phil still looks frightfully pale, but seems better than Steve last remembers. His stomach rumbles to remind him that he hasn’t eaten in nearly a day, but it’s only after Madam Pomfrey assures him he can come right back that he agrees to take care of himself. And come back he does. He hardly leaves Phil’s side, waiting anxiously for some sign of improvement, spending his nights slumped over in his chair with his head resting on the bed beside Phil’s hand.

It’s not the most comfortable sleep he’s had, but he knows there’s no other place he’d rather be.

* * *

It takes nearly a week for Phil to wake up. When he does, it’s in the middle of a visit. Whatever conversation they’d been having is dropped the moment they notice him beginning to stir. They wait anxiously, watching to see if he’ll wake this time, and are rewarded when he wearily pries his eyes open. Steve doesn’t think his eyes have ever looked more gorgeous than they do now.

“Hey,” he says with a smile.

“Hey,” Phil croaks.

“How do you feel?” Steve asks.

Phil mumbles something unintelligible as his eyes slip shut again, only for them to fly back open as he makes an attempt to bolt up in bed. “Thor…!”

Steve and Clint press him back to the bed as his features contort in pain. Thor is quick to step into his field of view to remedy the situation as they attempt to calm him down.

“Here, Son of Coul. I am unharmed,” Thor assures him. “The threat has long since passed.”

Any fight that had been in the Head Boy leaves him with a great, heaving sigh as he closes his eyes and rests back against the pillows. He makes a soft, pleased noise when Steve runs a hand through his short, brown hair, begging him to take it easy.

“How long’ve I been out?” Phil mumbles.

“About a week,” Jasper says.

“Mm. Got an exam. Essay to write…” Phil says, his voice still rough with disuse.

“Only you, Cheese, would think of homework at a time like this,” Nick sighs. “Do us a favor and just listen to Rogers, would you?”

“You almost died, Phil,” Clint says seriously. “Technically did for a little while, according to Madam Pomfrey. So can you maybe not joke about it? Some of us have been a little freaked out. Jasper thought you were going to bleed out on him.”

“Whatever that was that Loki used,” Jasper says, shaking his head, “I’ve never seen it. Not even in any of the books in the restricted section.”

“That’s a Slytherin for you,” Phil says. “Endlessly resourceful.”

“Okay, maybe _don’t_ compliment the guy that almost killed you? I think that sounds like a good plan,” Tony says.

“Has Steve been here the whole time?” Phil wants to know.

Steve shoots them all a look, warning them to keep quiet. Of course, them being them, that’s not going to happen.

“Yes,” Bruce says.

“Every night,” Rhodey adds.

“I’m pretty sure he only left to shower,” Clint says.

“Which we had to make him do because he was still in his Quidditch robes and he smelled,” Maria says.

“Traitors,” Steve grumps.

“Idiot,” Phil says fondly.

“Why don’t we give them some alone time, hmm?” Pepper suggests, already trying to shoo them out of the room. “Before he starts accusing the rest of you of being idiots as well.”

“They are,” Phil mumbles. “But they’re _my_ idiots.”

“Love you, too, Phil,” Natasha smirks.

Steve watches them all file out, knowing they’ll be back later with reinforcements. The cards and gifts and flowers and candy piled high on the bedside table is evidence enough of that. Phil seems to be taking all of this very lightly and he wonders if the Head Boy truly understands how close he’d been to death. Taking the shorter boy’s hand in his own, he squeezes and feels elated at the fact that Phil is awake to squeeze back.

“We were so close to losing you,” Steve says with a heavy sigh. “Do you know that?”

For the first time, he sees the severity of the situation reflected in Phil’s expression. “I’m sorry I put you through all of this.”

“But I’m betting you don’t regret it,” Steve guesses.

“You know I can’t just stand by and watch something like that happen,” Phil says quietly.

“Yeah, I know,” Steve says, rising enough to kiss his forehead. “It’s what I love about you.”

“You waited for me,” Phil says.

“We all did. There was practically an army outside the doors to the Hospital Wing,” Steve tells him, shaking his head with a small smile. “No one wanted to leave. You’ve got so many people here who care about you. I thought…”

He pauses, wetting his lips with his tongue.

“I thought you were gone. When Jasper came running to get us, covered in your blood, and then they wouldn’t let any of us in or give us a straight answer… I thought I lost you,” Steve says, his tone soft and honest. “After we just got together, I couldn’t believe that you might be taken from me so soon. So I had to wait here for you to wake up. I had to see you open your eyes for myself. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you didn’t. I love you and I don’t care if it’s too soon to say that sort of thing to each other because _that’s_ what I feel for you. Understand? I’m so in love with you I can hardly stand it. I’m… Merlin, Phil, I’m just so glad you woke up.”

“I love you, too,” Phil says, his voice choked with tears. “I’m so sorry Steve. I’m so sorry you had to…”

He doesn’t know which one of them starts crying first, only that they wind up with red, puffy eyes by the end of it. Apparently, it’s never too soon to tell someone you love them, but it can be too late. Steve is thankful he hadn’t found himself in the latter category. Phil isn’t long for the waking world after that, and Steve is only too happy to let the older boy use him as a pillow. It’s easier to watch him sleep now, knowing when he’ll wake. Listening to each soft breath he takes, Steve knows that Phil has a long road ahead of him, but whatever’s waiting for him, they’re going to meet it together.


	6. [MARRIAGE] I'm never drinking again.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was Tony who’d decided that Steve being unable to get drunk defeated the purpose of a bachelor party. And Thor, bless his heart, decided a little Asgardian mead would fix that.

It was Tony who’d decided that Steve being unable to get drunk defeated the purpose of a bachelor party. And Thor, bless his heart, decided a little Asgardian mead would fix that. Which is why the next morning, the God of Thunder is helping a very hung-over Captain America back to Phil’s apartment. Steve groans as he fumbles for his key, leaning heavily on his friend. Thor only pats him fondly on the chest, laughing quietly.

“You did well for a human,” Thor announces. “You should take pride in that. Lesser men would have met their limit long before you.”

“Thanks. I think,” Steve croaks. “But could you do me a favor and not say everything so loud?”

“Ah. Yes. Of course,” Thor says, dropping the volume of his voice as Steve manages to unlock the door. “Rest easy, Steven, and give the Son of Coul my regards.”

“Thanks, Thor,” Steve sighs, clumsily clapping his fellow Avenger on the shoulder before disappearing into the apartment.

As he closes the door behind him, he notices that the apartment is curiously dark. The blinds are shut, the curtains drawn, and every source of manmade light is extinguished. As he makes his way towards the bedroom, he wonders if Phil could have somehow prepared knowing he might come home like this. But how _could_ he know? Unless maybe someone had tipped him off? As he staggers into the bedroom, he finds he only has more questions as he spies Phil in their bed, bare shoulders rising above the comforter and his face buried in his pillow.

“Phil?” Steve says questioningly as he draws closer.

He hears a muffled groan before Phil turns his face enough to squint up at him and whisper, “Not so _loud_.”

For a moment Steve is confused until he remembers.

“That’s right. Pepper,” he mumbles, shuffling to his side of the bed and collapsing. “How was your bachelor party?”

“Fantastic,” Phil sighs. “But I’m never drinking again.”

“Me neither,” Steve agrees.

“You can’t get drunk.”

“Not from anything on Earth.”

Phil props himself up at that and takes a good, long look at Steve. “What did Stark do?”

“He asked Thor to bring some mead from Asgard,” Steve says, he massages his temples. “Things got… interesting.”

“You got drunk,” Phil observes.

“Yeah.”

“Please tell me someone recorded it.”

“Tony Stark was there, what do you think?”

“Good point.”

They lapse into silence, both regretting some of the choices they’d made the night prior. Steve rolls on his side, watching Phil lie there with his face buried in his pillow.

“I’ve heard sex is a good cure for a hangover.”

Phil looks up, eyes bloodshot and looking more like he’d rather go spend some private time with the toilet bowl. Which is why it surprises Steve when he says, “I won’t apologize if I throw up on you.”

* * *

“Okay,” Phil pants, lying on his back, sticky with sweat and come. “Maybe I’m okay if we drink once in a while, so long as we do this after.”

“Agreed,” Steve says, out of breath. He passes Phil a water bottle, taking a long drink from his own. “Up for another round after a water break?”

Given how bad their hangovers were, Pepper later remarks that neither of them must have left the bed the entire day. She’s right of course, just not for the reason she thinks.


	7. [INJURY] Do you have to walk around with tissues shoved up your nostrils?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve had hoped they'd be able to sneak back into the dorm without their RA noticing. He should know by now that there's no getting past Phil Coulson.

Steve knows he’s in trouble the moment they approach the dorms. They thought they’d done well enough when it came to making sure they weren’t caught sneaking out, but they should have known that their RA would catch them. Phil Coulson is giving them one of his sternest looks as he marks his place in his book and sets it aside.

“Well, I hope it was worth it,” he declares as they approach.

“How did you find out?” Sam asks.

Phil holds up a brightly colored piece of paper. “Generally when one puts up flyers to advertise a fight, it isn’t all that hard to figure out, Wilson.”

“Flyers? What…?” Clint says, snatching the paper from Phil’s grasp. He makes a disgusted noise. “Fucking Stark always having to overdo everything.”

“Like you really expected anything different,” Natasha says.

“Well, if you’re going to kick our asses, I’d prefer to get right to it,” Bucky says.

Phil makes a thoughtful noise.

“Luckily for you, Barnes, you’ve got someone willing to watch your back,” he says, tucking his book under his arm. “Jasper explained the whole thing. Typically, an infraction such as this would lead to a rather harsh punishment, but given the circumstances surrounding this little brawl of yours, I’m willing to be a little more lenient. We can discuss your punishment after classes tomorrow.”

“So we’re not being expelled?” Steve inquires.

“I don’t believe in nominating students for expulsion for an incident like this when I know their motives were good at heart,” Phil says. He nods at Clint and Natasha. “I’ve been dealing with Barton and Romanoff long enough to be able to tell the difference between petty schoolyard brawls and someone looking to right a wrong.”

“Besides,” Jasper says, appearing from behind Phil and slinging his arm around the other boy’s shoulders. “Phil’s been in his fair share of brawls himself.”

“Don’t encourage them,” Phil says, side-eyeing his friend. He looks to Steve. “Rogers, do you _have_ to walk around with tissues shoved up your nostrils?”

“Well, Natasha only had one tampon in her purse, so we had to make do with some tissues,” Sam declares.

“What I _mean_ by that,” Phil says, sounding like he’s summoning forth a great deal of patience to deal with them, “is that you should have gone to the nurse. The hospital. Something.”

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Steve tells him. “I’ve had worse.”

Steve is surprised when his answer, instead of appeasing the RA, only seems to incense him further. Phil’s lips are set in a hard, thin line as he meets Steve’s gaze with a thunderous frown. For a moment, he wonders if he’s just crossed the line and gotten them in trouble after all.

“Everyone, hit the showers and head to bed,” Phil says. “Rogers, you’re with me.”

The group shares an uncertain look, but Clint nudges Steve’s shoulder; a sign that it’s alright to go ahead. Trusting the others not to leave him to be hung out to dry, he follows Phil as Jasper leads the rest of them to the showers. Steve isn’t sure what to expect. It’s clear Phil isn’t happy with any of them, regardless of his intent to go easy on them, and much of his ire seems to be focused on Steve, for whatever reason. He’s surprised when the older student leads them to his room, of all places. Unlocking the door, he leads Steve inside.

“Have a seat, please,” Phil says, gesturing to a chair.

Steve does as instructed, taking time to look around the room. The space that Phil and Nick share is bigger than the typical dorms—likely a lot neater, too. There are comic books piled high on the nightstand beside the bed that he guesses is Phil’s and posters plastering the walls in such great numbers that there’s barely any wall visible beneath them. He’s surprised when Phil pulls up another chair in front of him, holding a bowl of water with a cloth soaking in it and a first aid kit.

“Luckily I had put some water on to boil for tea,” Phil notes as he sits down.

“Oh, you don’t have to—“

Steve quiets himself at the look he gets in response and decides it’s better to just let Phil do what he wants and get it over with. He watches the older boy snap on a pair of latex gloves.

“Latex allergy?”

“No, thankfully,” Steve says. “Considering how many other allergies I have.”

“Mm. You’ve got asthma,” Phil says. “Could you take your shirt off?”

Steve blushes, but does as he’s asked. “Yeah, uh, how did you know? About the asthma…”

“I pay attention to things I care about,” Phil says easily. When Steve shoots him a questioning look, he’s surprised when Phil flushes to match him before clearing his throat. “The students in this dormitory building are my responsibility. I take that seriously.”

“I can tell,” Steve says, trying not to fidget as he sits topless before the RA.

“Do I have your permission to examine you for injury?” Phil asks him.

“I… Yeah, I guess so,” Steve says, rubbing the back of his neck.

Phil shakes his head, his look shifting into something beyond serious. “It’s either ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ If you don’t want me to, then I’ll stop right here. I don’t touch people unless I have their consent. I would prefer to treat your injuries myself, since I know you won’t seek medical help on your own, but I’m not about to do anything you don’t agree to.”

“Yes, then,” Steve says slowly, surprised at Phil’s insistence.

“Good,” Phil says with a nod.

Steve sits still as Phil removes the bloody wads of tissue from his nose. His touch is light and practiced, never pressing too hard in the places where Steve might feel it most. In retrospect, having an EMT certified RA is probably not all that bad a thing. Especially not in this situation. Steve’s nerves are quickly put to bed by steady, sure hands and the soft, soothing timbre of Phil’s voice as he dictates every action he takes.

“It looks like you need some stitches here,” Phil says. “I’m going to apply a local anesthetic, but it might sting a little.”

“I can take it,” Steve says surely.

“I’m sure you can.”

The shot does sting, but it definitely makes receiving the stitches on his shoulder easier to bear. Phil is silent while he works and Steve figures he needs to concentrate, so he remains silent, too. It’s not all that bad, really, having Phil tend to his wounds. He really would have done fine on his own, but there’s something infinitely better about sitting here, in Phil’s room, with Phil’s hands on him. The older boy is leaning forward, focused on his work and close enough that Steve can feel each puff of breath on his bare skin.

“Don’t get those wet,” Phil instructs as he finishes. Steve has a moment to inspect them before Phil is tapping the side of his face, prompting Steve to look straight ahead. Phil sets about wiping away the dried blood with a warm, damp cloth. “You know, I wish you would have come to me instead.”

“I would have healed fine on my own,” Steve repeats. “And besides, you brought me here anyway.”

“I meant with that fight,” Phil corrects him.

Steve hesitates to answer. “They wouldn’t have stopped. If we turned tail and ran to you, it would have just been seen as us backing down. This was the only way they were going to leave those kids alone.”

“Like I said, I wish you would have come to me. You’re not the biggest guy out there, Steve.”

Steve grows defensive at that. “I don’t need you to tell me that. And just because I’m not the biggest guy out there doesn’t mean I’m going to sit back and just let that happen. I don’t like bullies. That’s it.”

“What I meant,” Phil says patiently, “is that I wish you’d let me help. I don’t enjoy seeing you like this. Just because I _can_ patch you up doesn’t mean I’m happy that I have to. I’d rather not see you hurt in the first place, understand?”

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Steve mumbles.

“I do,” Phil corrects him.

“Well, you shouldn’t.”

“I don’t have much of a choice.”

“I know, I know. You’re the RA. You have to.”

“That’s not it.”

Steve wishes Phil would just give him a straight answer. Phil just finishes up with a small smile and pulls his gloves off before handing Steve his shirt.

“Telling me I don’t have to worry about you is like telling me I don’t have to breathe,” Phil says as he sits on the edge of his bed and lets Steve put his shirt back on. “It’s just not a choice. Tea?”

“Sure. Thanks,” Steve answers once his shirt is on. “But shouldn’t I leave? Nick has to be back soon, right?”

“You can leave if you like,” Phil says with a shrug. “But Nick isn’t going to be back until Monday. He’s visiting his folks.”

“Oh. I just didn’t want to impose. But if he’s not going to be back, then I guess I could stay,” Steve says, relaxing at the answer.

As they sit and talk, Steve can appreciate the difference between Phil the RA and Phil the student. In fact, he believes this is the only opportunity they’ve ever had to be alone—every other meeting had either been at a party or with their collective friend group. He finds he likes it this way. He likes the way Phil watches him as though every word out of his mouth is of the utmost interest to him. He likes the way the older boy smiles around his cup as he drinks his tea.  Most of all, he likes the way Phil looks at him—like he’s something more than a skinny, asthmatic art student with a penchant for getting himself in trouble.

By the time they’re finished, Steve finds himself looking for an excuse to spend any more time with him that he can. So when Phil offers to walk him back to his room, he’s not about to refuse. Still, the walk feels too short for his liking and they’re at his door before he knows it.

“I want to thank you for tonight,” Steve says, lingering outside the room he shares with Bucky. “I know it might not have seemed like it, but I really do appreciate it. I’m glad we’ve got you looking out for us.”

“I’m glad you let me now and again,” Phil counters with an amused tone.

“Well, I guess I’ll… see you after class tomorrow,” Steve says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Actually, I was wondering if you’d let me ask you a completely inappropriate question,” Phil blurts.

Steve freezes in place, wondering what it could be. “Inappropriate?”

“Inappropriate at least in the sense that RA’s generally shouldn’t ask any of the students under their supervision if they’d like to go on a date,” Phil says with a self-conscious smile.

“Is it, uh… is it against the rules?” Steve asks.

“Not explicitly, no. Frowned upon, perhaps, but there’s no official rule against it,” Phil says.

“Then I guess it’s not all that inappropriate,” Steve says.

“Guess not,” Phil says. “So, then… Would you go on a date with me?”

“When are you free?” Steve asks.

They make their plans there in the hallways before Steve eventually has to go inside and Phil returns to his own room. Steve feels light and giddy, the pain of his injuries diminished in the face of having a date planned. And if he has to take some shit from Bucky for grinning like an idiot it’s worth it.


	8. [MARRIAGE] So... Which one of us is going to be wearing the dress?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What makes a woman isn't something other people should define for you, it's something you should define for yourself. For Steph Rogers, this hasn't always been true.

Steph Rogers flips through the catalog uncertainly, not sure what to make of the slim, elegant models showing off the dresses. With a sigh she closes the magazine and places it aside, deciding not to ruin her mood by thinking too hard about it. She’s gladder when Phil and Pepper emerge from the lift, walking towards her with coffee and baked goods.

“So, what’d you think of the catalog?” Pepper asks, setting the tray down on the table.

“It was… interesting,” Steph answers with a smile, not wanting to offend the other woman.

She can feel Phil’s gaze on her and knows that her fiancée has detected that something’s off. Philomena Coulson is nothing if not perceptive and seems to be especially so when it concerns her romantic partners, as Steph has discovered along the way. She shoots Phil a smile, hoping to ease her worry some.

“So… Which one of us is going to be wearing the dress?” Steph asks.

“Well, you could or Phil could. Or you both could. Neither, even,” Pepper explains. “Whatever you’re both comfortable with.”

“I see,” Steph hums. “In that case, I think Phil should wear the dress. She looks a heck of a lot prettier in one than I would.”

“Now what’s that supposed to mean?” Phil asks, slipping into a seat beside her.

“Oh, come on, guys,” Steph says, blowing out an impatient breath. “Look at me. Ever since the serum I haven’t been able to wear one without looking like someone stuck a dress on an ox.”

“Do you _want_ to wear a dress?” Pepper asks.

“It doesn’t matter if I want to wear one or not,” Steph argues uncomfortably, pulling her coffee closer to her. “I can’t wear one.”

“Steph,” Phil says, placing a hand on hers. “You _can_ wear one.”

“Look, I appreciate what you’re both trying to do, it’s just…” Steph says, he sentence running off into a sigh. How can she possibly explain this sort of thing to them? These two women with their small, slim physiques? “I don’t know. I wanted this. The serum. I wouldn’t take that back, but I didn’t expect to have to give up every ounce of my femininity just to play with the boys. The world doesn’t want Steph Rogers, they want Captain America. I can’t have both, believe me, I’ve tried.”

She sees the way they look at her with sad eyes and she has a desperate need to turn the conversation around. They’re supposed to be planning a wedding. This is supposed to be a happy event and here she is raining on the parade with her insecurities.

“It’s fine, honestly,” Steph says, waving her hand dismissively as she fixes a smile in place. “I was just being a little overdramatic. I’ve gotten used to it, really.”

“It’s not something you should’ve had to get used to,” Phil says. “I thought you wore more masculine clothing because that’s what made you comfortable, not because that’s what you believe you’re expected to wear.”

“Well, it does make me comfortable, in a way,” Steph says. “People don’t stare as much as they do when I wear feminine clothing.”

Phil sighs and squeezes her hand. “We’re going to get you a dress.”

“Phil, I don’t think—“

“No, listen. This wedding isn’t about what everyone else thinks. It’s about you and me and that’s it,” Phil tells her. “If you’re worried about what you might look like, don’t be. You couldn’t possibly be anything less that absolutely beautiful.”

“She’s right, Steph,” Pepper adds. “Women come in all shapes and sizes. Just because you don’t look like the women in that magazine doesn’t mean you’re any less of a woman than they are. I’ve got a friend who designs wedding dresses; why don’t you let me set up an appointment and you two can try on dresses together?”

Steph hesitates uncertainly. She wants to believe them, that she can pull this off, but she’s spent so much time being treated as anything but a woman that she’s not sure she can. How many years has she had to be one of the guys? How many times has she had to grin and bear the casual sexism, the put-downs, the erasure of her gender? Too many. The answer is always too many.

She’s still mulling it over when Phil leans over and kisses her cheek. The shorter woman turns her lips to Steph’s ear and whispers quietly.

“You have always been the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen,” Phil says. “Both before the serum and after. No one has any right to tell you what makes up a woman; that’s up to you. And whatever that is, whatever defines being a woman to you, is more than enough woman for me. Okay? I love you. No matter what, dress or no dress.”

Steph turns her face, catching Phil in a quick kiss. As if she needed a reminder why she’s marrying the woman in the first place, here it is. This is years of insecurity she has to face and doing so isn’t going to be the easiest, but it’s time she does. It’s time she takes this back. Looking back to Pepper, she offers a small smile as she squeezes Phil’s hand.

“I think I’d like to make that appointment, Pepper.”


	9. [INJURY] Ouch. That is not a pretty face.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil hasn't seen Steve since his mother died last year. But when he catches sight of him on the first day of school, he thinks it's a fairly decent excuse for not noticing the bludger headed for his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little drabble done for the [Marvel Wizarding!AU](http://saleminstituteforthegifted.tumblr.com/) that I'm a part of. You should check it out and consider applying! We're having a lot of fun and there are plenty of spots open. :D

Another school year at the Salem Witches Institute. Somehow, Phil isn’t quite as excited for the start of a new term as he had been in the past. Namely because of how his summer had gone. The end of the last school year had been punctuated by tragedy—namely, the death of Steve’s mother. Phil had attended the funeral, had stayed long after the other mourners had gone home, but it had been the last he’d seen of Steve all summer. He’d sent Lola with letter which had been returned to him unopened, had offered more than once to have Steve stay with him and his own mother, but he was met with silence. When he’d travelled to Steve’s home, all the way in Brooklyn, he’d received no answer despite knocking on his door for hours.

Now he isn’t sure if Steve will ever be coming back. He keeps hoping that he might catch a glimpse of him on the way, and while he’s seen many friends and familiar faces, none of them are the one he’s looking for. Steve’s mother’s passing had hit him hard, but apparently it’s even harder than Phil had imagined. Without any living family left in the world, Phil can see how alone he might feel, but he hopes that Steve isn’t operating under the false assumption that he’s completely alone in the world. He has so many people who care about him here—some more so than others.

Frankly, Phil is quite alright with keeping that particular bit of information secret. He has for years, after all. Discovering his attraction to both genders had been one thing, but he has no clue if Steve is anything other than straight as an arrow. And even if he is, it’s not like he would definitely return Phil’s feelings. He’d rather keep quiet than risk ruining one of the most important friendships he has.

“Phil!”

He freezes at the call. The voice is a little deeper in pitch—they’re at that age, after all—but it’s definitely Steve. A smile already forming on his face, he twists around to greet his fellow Proctor student… and freezes. Striding towards him through the crowd isn’t the skinny little blonde boy he remembers. Phil can only stare as a lean blonde teen, nearly a head taller than him, eagerly makes his way towards him. This is definitely Steve. Except it’s definitely _not_ Steve.

Steve has always been attractive—in his eyes, at least—but now he’s nothing short of a bombshell. What exactly had gone on in the summer to turn the skinny little healer into a proverbial Adonis? Phil’s so caught up in staring that he fails to hear the shouted warnings until it’s too late.

“Hey, hey! Heads up!”

“Coulson, watch out!”

Before he knows it, he’s on his back, staring up at blue sky with the taste of blood in his mouth and a hideous pain pulsating through his entire face. There’s more shouting and the sound of running and then the sky is blocked out by all his friends’ faces.

“Ho-ly _shit_ that’s a lot of blood,” Tony says.

“I’ve seen worse,” Clint says with a shrug.

“Ouch. That is not a pretty face,” John says with a low whistle. He smirks. “Not that it was very pretty in the first place.”

“Oh, and we’re all so lucky to be graced with your ugly mug, aren’t we, Garrett?” Felix drawls.

“I’m fucking beautiful,” John retorts.

“Phil, are you okay?” Steve asks worriedly.

“I think my nose is broken,” Phil answers, blinking dumbly.

“Alright, alright, step back and give him some breathing room,” Pepper says, shooing them away. “And someone please tell Wade it’s not funny to let Bludgers loose on other students just to ‘see what will happen.’ Jasper, Melinda, help me sit him up.”

“Divination may not have been my strong suit, but I think a trip to the Hospital Wing is in your future,” Jasper says, kneeling down to help Pepper and Melinda.

Phil groans as blood pours down his face the second he’s vertical, thankful when Natasha passes them a towel to soak up most of it. What a wonderful way to start the school year. To his surprise, Steve moves to kneel before him, pulling his wand out of his robes.

“Actually, I think I can handle this,” he announces. “I spent the summer traveling to seek out some tutors in the healing arts.”

“And turning into a beefcake, apparently,” Skye adds, wandering over with FitzSimmons.

“Our little Stevie is growing up,” Tony says, brushing aside a fake tear.

“Anyway,” Steve says, clearing his throat. “This should just take a second.”

Phil waits patiently, although he’s never really enjoyed this sort of thing. He’s had bones mended before, but the process still unnerves him quite a bit. Maybe it’s just because it’s his face this time, but he swears he feeling of his bones knitting back together hurts a hell of a lot more than it had any time before. Before long, though, it’s all over and Steve’s using another spell to clean the remaining blood from his face.

“There. That should do the—… oh,” Steve says, his sentence trailing off in disappointment.

“What? What is it?” Phil asks, feeling a spike of panic.

“Your nose is crooked as shit,” Nick supplies.

Phil reaches up to feel for himself. It’s not broken any longer, thankfully, but Nick hadn’t been completely wrong, either. His nose is decidedly more crooked than it had been just a few minutes ago. Then, to make matters worse, Steve’s hands are on his face. Long, slender fingers gently probe and turn his head to inspect the damage and one of those fingers very nearly brushes across his lips and the idea of just taking it in his mouth and—

“Are you feeling okay? Your face is really red all of a sudden,” Steve notes worriedly. “Maybe I hadn’t gotten that one down as well as I’d thought. We’d better get you to the Hospital Wing.”

“I’m fine. Fine,” Phil says, a little louder than he’d intended. “Completely fine.”

“Look, Phil, I know you don’t like the Hospital Wing, but at the very least we should see if they can straighten your nose out again,” Steve says, standing up and brushing himself off.

“And maybe do something about those nice, rosy cheeks of yours,” Skye says innocently.

“Oh, Skye, leave him be,” Jemma sighs, taking a gander at Steve all the same.

“Fine, I’ll go. Now, could all of you just get back to unloading your things, please?” Phil asks, feeling like he’d like to march straight to his dorm and dive under the covers of his bed for the rest of the day. “I don’t need all of you crowding around. You’ve got better things to do.”

He gets his fair share of bumps and jostles and friendly shoulder punches as the group scatters, leaving him alone with Steve. With a shake of his head, he starts off in the direction of the castle, wishing to just get it all over with as quickly as possible. He’s made enough of a fool of himself for the day and he doesn’t need to go adding on top of it in any way. Their walk is primarily silent, until half-way through when Steve suddenly blurts out a question.

“Are you angry?”

Phil looks up, startled. “About my nose? Not really. I should’ve been paying more attention and you were just trying to help.”

“I meant about this summer,” Steve says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I sort of dropped off the face of the earth.”

“I wouldn’t call it angry,” Phil says, looking down at the grass beneath their feet as they walk. “But I am frustrated. I understand that it was a difficult time for you and that you needed your space, but you shut me out completely. I was worried. You didn’t tell any of us where you were. I wrote you, I showed up at your apartment—“

“You came to Brooklyn?” Steve interrupts, eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

“Yeah. Like I said, I was worried,” Phil says with a shrug. He sighs and his shoulders droop. “I just wish you’d’ve told me, that’s all. I spent all summer wondering if I’d ever see you again. But this isn’t about me. If this was what you needed to do to handle your grief then… well, I’m just glad you’re alright.”

“I missed you.”

The words stop him as much as the hand around his arm does. Steve is looking at him with those too-blue eyes with that piercing intensity that never fails to send a shiver down his spine.

“I know it doesn’t count for much now, but I never stopped thinking about you,” Steve assures him. “The truth is I had trouble with you seeing me like that. When my mom died, I was… I wasn’t me. I wasn’t in a good place. And every time I picked up a pen to write you, I knew you’d want to come help me. Part of me really wanted you to. But I didn’t want you to see me like that, so I knew I needed space. I needed time to fix myself and I couldn’t figure out a way to tell you that because I knew that if you asked to see me, I wouldn’t be able to say no.”

“I understand,” Phil says with a short nod.

“Do you?” Steve asks, squeezing his arm.

“Steve, I’ve known you for five years,” Phil tells him. “If you think I’ve somehow overlooked that stubborn streak in you, then you don’t know me very well.”

Steve relaxes at that, a crooked smile forming on his face as his hand slides up to squeeze Phil’s shoulder. His hand lingers as they continue on their way and Phil does everything he can not to focus on that detail.

“So how have you been since…?” Phil asks, his sentence trailing off meaningfully.

“I’ve gotten better,” Steve admits. “I miss her. A lot. And some days are harder than others, but I think being back at school will help.”

“Well, we’re all here for you. You know that,” Phil reminds him. His tongue darts out to wet his lips. “Can I ask what happened to make you, uh… Well, let’s put it this way: the last time I saw you, you were puffing out of an inhaler and I could see the top of your head.”

Steve actually flushes a bit at that.

“Right. About that. Remember how I mentioned that I travelled to study with various healers around the world?” Steve asks. “Well, I met this one wizard, Dr. Erskine. He had an… experimental potion he was working on. He’d studied Nicholas Flamel’s work for decades and had finally created his own elixir. It had the potential to cure any ailment, to extend the user’s life. He needed someone to test it on and he happened to find me. So I decided to experiment.”

It’s the sort of stupid, reckless thing that drives Phil crazy, but it’s also the sort of stupid, reckless thing that’s 100% Steve Rogers. So Phil swallows whatever reprimand he had brewing and tries to just focus on the fact that Steve is here with him now and that’s the important part.

“Clearly it worked,” Phil observes. “So why haven’t we heard of this yet?”

Steve’s expression grows somber.

“Dr. Erskine… well… he was killed shortly after. By someone looking to steal the secret to his elixir,” Steve says with a shake of his head, a heavy frown forming on his face. “I couldn’t stop them. He’d never written any of his work down so when he died he took the secret with him.”

“I’m sorry,” Phil says sincerely. “It sounds like you were fond of him.”

“He was a good man,” Steve agrees with a sad smile. “One that I owe my life to.”

“With everything that’s gone on, what made you decide to come back?” Phil asks.

“You.”

Phil’s head whips up so fast he finds himself blinking away stars. Steve colors at the implication, hurriedly pulling his hand from Phil’s shoulder and running it through his own hair.

“Well, I mean, you, the others…” Steve says, waving a hand in explanation. He clears his throat. “You’re one of my best friends, Phil. You mean a lot to me. More than you know. And I figured… Families are sometimes things we make for ourselves. With Ma gone, it didn’t make sense to leave behind the family I made for myself.”

“I’m glad,” Phil says, nodding to himself. “I’m glad you decided to come back. It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

The smile he gets from Steve is worth breaking his nose a hundred times.

“Although,” he adds, gesturing towards Steve. “I think this is going to take some getting used to.”

“You don’t even know the half of it,” Steve says with a laugh.

Phil chuckles along weakly, trying not to get distracted by the pleasant way the other boy’s voice has deepened or the way his Adam’s apple bobs when he laughs, or his chiseled jaw, or arms that look muscular enough to pick Phil up and slam him against the wall and—

Oh, this is going to be a very long school year.


	10. [MARRIAGE] How do you feel about a spring wedding?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are times in life when you've got no choice but to multitask. Sometimes that means planning a wedding while punching someone in the face.

“How do you feel about a spring wedding?” Phil whispers into his comm.

 _“I don’t know. You know how your allergies tend to act up,”_ Steve answers.

“I guess that’s something to consider,” Phil says with a nod of agreement that the other man can’t see as he takes out the incoming HYDRA soldier with a quick round to the chest. “Fall, then?”

 _“Fall’s nice. Perfect weather, too. Not too hot, not too cold,”_ Steve proclaims, the sounds of combat filtering over the line to Phil’s ears. _“Plus the foliage would make for some nice photos, don’t you think?”_

“We could even serve mulled cider at the reception,” Phil says. “Hold on a minute, I’ve got incoming…”

The scuffle is quick and primarily silent. Minutes later, Phil is standing over three unconscious guards, straightening his tie and lamenting the slight tear in the sleeve of his suit. It was one of his favorites. With a soft sigh, he divests the guards of their sidearms, checks to see if they’re indeed unconscious, and proceeds, unheard, through the hall.

“Sorry about that,” Phil apologizes. “So, I was thinking if we had a fall wedding, we could get away with having apple-flavored cake without running the risk of people thinking we’re having some sort of Captain America-themed wedding.”

 _“I like the idea of apple cake,”_ Steve hums in a way that tells Phil they should pick up a pie for later tonight. _“Jasper was telling me about a bakery downtown that does—… oh, hold on. It looks like these fellas don’t care that we’re trying to plan a wedding.”_

“That’s terribly rude of them,” Phil says in a sympathetic tone, clucking his tongue in disapproval. “Are you close to the exit?”

_“Nearly there. Just have to take care of a few stragglers here. Did you beat me to it?”_

“This time,” Phil says. “Do you think you’ll wear a tux or your dress uniform?”

_“Maybe I want to surprise you.”_

“You mean drive me crazy trying to guess,” Phil corrects him, glancing out their exit to make sure it’s all clear.

 _“Out of curiosity, which one would you prefer?”_ Steve wonders amid the sound of bullets bouncing off his shield, followed by the dull _thwong_ of said shield making contact with someone’s skull.

“Can I be greedy and say both?” Phil asks, leaving the door and tracking the sound of the fight around the corner.

 _“I could always wear one during the ceremony and the other during the reception,”_ Steve suggests reasonably.

“So in other words,” Phil says, rounding the corner and putting a shot in the remaining HYDRA agent, “you’re going to spoil me.”

“I want everything to be just right, is all,” Steve says, stepping over groaning bodies to come meet him. “If it’s a day that’s supposed to be about us then it should stand to reason that I do everything I can to make sure it’s perfect.”

“You said ‘yes.’ It’s already perfect,” Phil says honestly. He nudges the soldier with his elbow. “Now, let’s get going.”

“You have the thumbdrive?”

“Of course.”

“Good.”

It’s a quick walk to the exit followed by an even quicker sprint towards the black SUV that comes screeching to a stop before them at just the right time. They clamber in as Jasper offers them a brief greeting before they’re peeling out, speeding out of the area like a bat out of hell. It’s not normal to plan a wedding while raiding an enemy base. It’s not normal to discuss wedding attire while knocking an enemy soldier unconscious.

It’s probably a good thing, then, that Steve and Phil aren’t a normal couple.


End file.
